


Pines and the Pale Oval

by FleshDust



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Slender Man Mythos
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dark, Death, Horror, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, Insanity, Madness, Other, Psychological Horror, Slenderverse, Tentacles, Torture, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9491000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleshDust/pseuds/FleshDust
Summary: And another victim is claimed.





	

Between the tree trunks the fog billows, gray and insubstantial. The staticky sensation of terror and madness envelop me. It has the feel of some unhinged place where sanity is inconsequential and absent more often than not. Pine trees watch me where I lay sprawled on the forest ground, every blue green needle on their branches a finger, pointing at me, gnarled bark rattling with wooden laughter. The moss and leaves that cradle my body smell of earth and rot and something fleshy, grayish pink, gelatinous and I just know that I am smelling the brains of a broken head, a split watermelon of quivering, ruined goop that once held the memories, emotions and the essence of a person.

It takes me a few moments to realize that the exposed brains are mine. I try to reach for my head, some stupid and desperate attempt to push the precious gray matter back into whatever cranial fissure its oozing out of, but my limbs only twitch in response.

I am escaping my own head, quite literally.

I hear myself croak out a thick gurgling sound, like the noise of an obese toad trying to mount its mate and failing spectacularly. And the horror of the situation starts to once again bleed across my consciousness as I see the white not-face lean over me. Behind the pale white oval I see a few stars blink, most of their comrades obscured by the branches of the pine trees. Celestial bodies join the trees in uproarious laughter.

The oval hovers above me, and I feel my sanity leak out of me, not only from my ruined skull, but out of my very soul. Discarding bits of acumen and stability like pieces of refuse until only a dark little nucleus of dementia is left behind.

There is nothing. Nothing. My brains are fertilizing the moss on the ground and there is nothing. Nothing. And everything.

Shadows, long and thin and prehensile materialize from behind his pale face, creep toward me, black and terrifying. Dancing in the fog, slicing through it like wire through cheese. Grasping.

They are too many to count, and I am no longer sure if I could actually count anything. My head feels heavy and throbbing and delicate, the cracked eggshell of my skull exposing my thoughts to the cold, clammy air.

The empty face above me tilts slightly and I can hear the harrowing insanity of others crackle in my increasingly void head. Others who have been successfully hunted. They are to be my brothers and sisters when this is all over.

The madness is beautiful. Lunacy, insanity, blissful batshit craziness, so comforting and soothing, in the madness there is nothing but the madness and you're just insane, not dying with a smashed skull, feeling your own brains leaking out of your head and dotting the moss like semen from some teenage kid who thought of his English teacher while taking a shortcut home, fumbling fingers yanking pants down, fervent tugging, secret and shameful and so very, very, very good.

The black tendrils reach me and I sigh. As my lips part, they invade my mouth, black and slick like oily strands of hair, tasting like ice and dead things and mother’s milk. Into my nostrils they go, splitting my nose until I drink my own blood and snot and tears. Sound distorts as they rape my ears with smoke and violence. More of them slither down my body, and soon they penetrate lower openings, too. I feel and smell coppery wetness as they fuck me, the twisting continuing deeper into my broken body, through veins and guts and twining around muscles and I laugh with elation, the sound being smothered in my throat by the darkness filling it. The pale oval simply watches me, silent and somehow analytical.

My thoughts shrink rapidly when I feel the tendrils reach my exposed brain matter. They stir themselves into it with glee, spiraling into the slush that's left of my mind and by now, the madness is blooming and I think, you know, this isn't so bad, it doesn't even hurt, doesn't hurt at a---

**Author's Note:**

> This is what my mind shits out when I need to relieve academia-related stress. Yeah, I don't even... what the fuck.


End file.
